Death in the Dungeons
by D'quer Jyi-Weil
Summary: It was too much for him...existing. Existing without Him. Halloween always provided the perfect oppurtunities to consider the darkeness eating him alive.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter. 

**A/N**: Written on a whim for a challenge. This takes place about 2 years after the trio's sixth year.

* * *

"Aw, c'mon Harry," Hermione pleaded. "You know you'll enjoy yourself."

"No."

"Harry…you can't just sit up here and pout for the rest of eternity."

"I don't plan on pouting…merely contemplating."

The girl paused, biting her lips stubbornly. She planted her hands on her hips stared at him coldly. "Harry Potter, get off your arse and come to this party with me."

"No."

Hermione rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. "Please?"

"No," he insisted, apparently annoyed.

She rubbed her nose in the crook of his neck, begging again. His answer was still no. But as the begging continued Harry remembered that Hermione could be very, very persuasive when she wanted to be.

* * *

Later that night, Hermione stood triumphantly on the stoop of the Patil twin's house, Harry on her arm. She understood that he was still mourning the deaths in the war, and she was still upset as well. But they had been upset for over a year. Just two weeks before, they had laid flowers on Ron's grave to commemorate the one-year anniversary of his gallant death. He had flung himself in front of an Avada Kedavra for Harry. Needless to say, the one left alive had never quite recovered from his friend's death."Hermione!" Padma shrieked, flinging open the door. "Oh, and you brought Harry. Hello Harry."

"Hello…" he mumbled, staring at his feet.

"He's just a bit tired," Hermione laughed, quickly covering. "But it is good to see you, Padma." She just didn't understand how Harry could wallow in self-pity for so long.

"Well come in and we'll get a butter beer or two in you."

Hermione and Harry followed Padma through the house. It was decorated in Wizarding Tradition. The walls had been charmed to resemble the walls of ancient castles, complete with dripping water and moss. In the main room, there was a huge fire warming the room, and mist hung about the corners. A portrait of Merlin hung about the fireplace, and gifts to the great wizard rested on the hearth. In the corner was a staircase, descending into what Hermione assumed were makeshift dungeons.

The kitchen had been converted to a fortune telling room, complete with strong perfumes and powder puff pillows. Hermione coughed as they entered, trying to extricate the scent from her nose. "You really went over the top in here, Padma."

"It was mum's favorite subject in school," she explained, offering the two butter beer.

"Do you have tea?" Harry asked suddenly, seemingly overcome by the ambience of the room. It reminded him of Trelawney's classroom at Hogwarts…and class that he and Ron had despised. But he wanted tea. He wanted the tea leaves.

"Sure." Padma quickly charmed a teapot and was soon pouring him a steaming cup. "Oh Hermione, you should come upstairs. I can show you what Wizards do for Halloween."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "What do you have?"

"Well…one of the rooms is quite like the Great Hall was. That's our couple room. I'll show you the way in case you want to make your way up there later. But then we have a tournament. This is an old style Wizarding tournament, like in the days of Merlin. I think you'd be marvelous at it! It's all about magic skills. They're about to start if you'd like to…"

"I'd love to participate!" She began to follow Padma out. "Would you like to come Harry?"

"No…"

Hermione looked at him with scrutiny, but the prospect of winning a tournament seemed more rewarding than sitting with Harry as he wallowed. "I'll be back down later."

He nodded and watched the two girls rush out. Finally alone, he sank onto one of the powder puffs and stared into his cup. Ron…

Merlin, he missed his friend. His one true friend in the world…Ron…was dead…dead. His brain cycled through the thought, as it had for the past year. The Wizarding World was safe, but Ron was dead. Voldemort had been defeated, but Ron was dead. Hermione loved him, but Ron was dead. Nothing could change that. Ron was dead.

He began to feel sick to his stomach, and downed the tea in an attempt to settle it. Then he stared into the bottom of the cup. The tealeaves looked like they always did – like some sort of regurgitated crude. But this time…out of the millions of times he had stared into the leaves, he saw something. He saw the black dog. A smile touched his lips. Death was just around the corner…but then again, hadn't it always been?

With thoughts of Ron still commanding his being, he wandered through the party. Everyone else was dressed traditionally, sporting long robes and flowing gowns. There were always smiles for him, but he didn't take anyone of them. He didn't want their smiles…he wanted Ron's.

He wanted Ron's sense of humor, and his nonsensical fears. He wanted his words of encouragement, and his stupidity. He wanted his idiotic thought process and faulty wand. He wanted his loyalty. He wanted his friend back…he wanted the other half of himself back.

Ron had taken it when he had decided to sit with him on the Hogwarts Express that first year. And now, Harry was incomplete. He'd lived for a year with the incompleteness. He wanted to be whole again. Either that, or he did not want to exist. Existence was becoming a burden.

He had just grown comfortable with this idea when Hermione's voice floated down the stairs. It only made him miss Ron more. _Better do this fast._

He hurried down the stairs in the main room…into the dungeons. He half expected to find Snape or Malfoy waiting to taunt him. He expected his two enemies to say something to make him loose his nerve. But neither was there. (In reality, both were in Azkaban.)

Harry searched frantically for any means of death. After all, there should be some in a dungeon. He saw none. No rusty daggers…no convenient pits.

"Harry…Harry, where are you?" Hermione's voice followed him, and his search became more frantic. Something…anything…

"I think I saw him go down into the dungeons."

Weapons…blunt objects…a convenient knife…anything…anything…anything to die. And then he saw it. The back section of the dungeon was sectioned off with a black velvet curtain, held back by a rather ornate rope. Rope.

"Harry? Are you down here?"

Hurry…not much time. His fingers worked clumsily to form the knot, but he finally gained control of them. The knot slipped freely into place and he placed it at the back of his neck. Good…break.

"Harry? Harry?"

Now a high place…or even a chair. In the back, behind the curtain, there was a sitting a social area, complete with table and chairs. He scrambled atop one and found a disguised beam to fasten the rope to. With a silent goodbye, he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the Ron would be waiting for him, wherever death should take him.

"HARRY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

He looked at her sadly. "I miss him."

"So do I." Her tears were falling freely now. "Harry, don't."

He thought of his red-haired friend again, and knew what Ron would want for him. Not this…not this…

"Harry, please come down. We can be happy together. You and me. We _are_ happy."

Without Ron…he couldn't be without Ron anymore. No…life was too much. He couldn't live anymore.

"HARRY!"

Rope…chair…Ron…fall…snap…black.


End file.
